What had gone through Raviathan's mind, Duncan wondered. The lad's reaction to the taint from the blighted wolves was singular in Duncan's experience. Disgust, nausea, and terror were all normal responses, ones Duncan had seen often, but to be thanked? More often than not, new Warden recruits balked at their first encounter with the taint. While the elf's motivation was a mystery, it was not the most pressing. The lad knew less than most about history or darkspawn, yet his recitation of theories matched Duncan's own knowledge. "Rav, how did you know all that about the taint?"

"Hmm? Know what?" Raviathan couldn't tear his gaze away from a half-frozen waterfall. Fresh water poured over long-formed icicles, transforming the waterfall into a sculpture of shimmering light. A hazy rainbow muted the flashes of hard, bright light—light that turned the refracted sun cold and pure. "Maker's breath, Duncan. I had no idea how beautiful this land is. Just look at that. It's extraordinary, like winter distilled into one perfect moment. And that will only exist for such a brief time. The ice melts or the sun leaves, and we'll never see this again. I don't know if that makes the sight better or not."

Startled from his question, Duncan stopped to join Raviathan in watching the waterfall. "How do you mean?"

"My aunt and I always had this discussion. She would say strawberries are sweeter because we only have them for a season. I would say strawberries are sweet no matter what. It's just that we don't always take the time to appreciate what we have. She thought that's what made her win the argument, and why I think she lost. We can appreciate the world around us anytime by becoming mindful of what we have. Rainbows aren't beautiful because they''re temporary. They're beautiful because they are beautiful. It's just that people are more willing to pay attention to them because they're rare."

On impulse, Duncan rested a hand on the lad's shoulder, squeezing slightly. Elven eyes flashed in his direction, warm as an Antivan sea, before turning back to the waterfall. Duncan said into the peace of the morning, "I agree with your aunt. Some things are precious because they are so rare."

The two continued to watch the waterfall, Duncan casually combing his fingers through Raviathan's hair. When he noticed Raviathan's faint trembling, Duncan pulled his eyes away from the sight to glance at his charge. Tear tracks marking his face, Raviathan stared without seeing, an expression of exquisite pain naked as a blade.

"Rav?"

The elf turned his head away, hastily wiping away his tears. "S-sorry. Uh, you were telling me about the Emperor Drakon's battles in the Second Blight."

"What's wrong?"

Raviathan breath hitched, and he turned to continue down the road. "The Battle of Ghislain? In Divine 32, wasn't it?"

"Rav…"

"Dun-can." Raviathan's guttural voice broke his name. "Please?"

The more Duncan knew of the boy, the more of a mystery he became. Whatever Raviathan's thoughts, escape from pain Duncan did understand. "When the contingent of griffin trained Wardens arrived from the Anderfels, Emperor Drakon planned an aerial assault on the captured city. Fortresses were not as common then, but the city used the natural marshlands it was built upon as a defense."

What was going through the lad's head?

~o~O~o~

Instead of an army ready to move south to battle darkspawn, Duncan found himself being guided up the foothills south of Lake Calenhad that led to the Frostback Mountains. A thin drizzle sought every crevice and opening of his armor to soak him through like cold sweat. Scrub brush accompanied the scant weeds that struggled for purchase in the stony earth in this patch of Ferelden. Brow furrowed in consternation at the weather, Duncan eyed grey skies, grey rain, and land colored in shades of brown, grey, and more brown.

"A very strange time of year for the Avvars to attack, isn't it?" Duncan asked.

"Indeed," the messenger replied. "We get raids in the summer, then they go back up to their mountains to hole up the rest of the year when the snow makes the trails impassable. It's our guess that the light winter has made them bold, so they decided to use that to surprise us."

"What's an Avvar?" Raviathan asked.

The messenger ignored the question until Duncan gave the man a hard glare. "Avvars are the barbarian tribes what live up in the mountains. Call us 'lowlanders'. Raid our farms. Steal foodstuffs and whatever they can't make on their own. Sometimes they take people, but that's rare."

"Take people?" Raviathan prompted.

"Yes, ser. We hear some become slaves. Others are used as mates to bolster their numbers. But Avvars don't have proper marriages. The keep a woman long enough to get them with a child or two, then the poor girl's passed to the next. Avvars ain't much more than animals, you ask me."

"Where did they come from?"

When the messenger shrugged, Duncan asked Raviathan, "How much do you know of King Calenhad?"

"He united the tribes of Ferelden into one country. Then there's the legend that he was part dog."

"That's all you know?" The messenger turned his head to look at the elf. "Maker's breath, even I know more than that."

Raviathan opened up his mouth to retort, but Duncan's hand on his shoulder stopped him. "We'll continue in more detail later. Suffice to say, the tribes that did not integrate with the rest of the nation moved either to the Frostbacks and became known as the Avvars, or went south into the Korcari Wilds, the Chasind." Duncan let the messenger move further ahead so he could speak with Raviathan privately. "When I was in my first years as a Warden, one of my compatriots was an Avvar. A fine man with a level head. An excellent leader who sacrificed his life so that I and others could live. A good skill to cultivate is learning to distinguish fact from prejudice. Not that the Avvars haven't earned the enmity of the arls and banns in this region, but they only see one side."

"You have that skill down well enough," Raviathan said.

"And one I want you to work on."

"What, about humans? Duncan, he wouldn't have even talked to me if you hadn't glared at him. That wasn't prejudice on my part. Honestly, you're the only human who hasn't treated me like a rat to be killed or an ox to be bought."

"No? Haven't I viewed you in terms of your usefulness to the Grey Wardens?"

Raviathan opened his mouth then closed it. "That's different."

"How so?"

After a moment's thought, Raviathan answered. "You wouldn't have risked me back at the alienage if you just desired a recruit. You may have gone to the alienage to get a recruit, but I was always a person to you, not like some sword you were purchasing."

"That's a rarity, Rav, and not one that should be indulged in." Duncan gave Raviathan's shoulder a final squeeze then let go. "You're just starting out, so you'll see in time. When we recruit, we can't judge, and that also means we can't show favoritism. If that means you come across a templar and a blood mage who could both serve as Wardens, you take them both. It would be a hard battle to get them to work together, but that's part of the sacrifice of the Grey. First and foremost, in every decision you make as a Grey Warden, your goal is to stop the darkspawn. By any means necessary."

Raviathan gazed up at Duncan, his eyes trusting yet measuring, weighing Duncan's words and the intention behind them. "Do you mentor all your recruits like this?"

"No, I don't."

"You're worried about the war in the South."

"Of course. I would be foolish not to be."

Raviathan studied him, his eyes narrowed slightly as if trying to puzzle Duncan out. "More than that. Something new you're concerned about."

A stony glint hardened Duncan's expression as he viewed the towering wall of mountain before them. "I wonder if the darkspawn could be driving the Avvars out of the mountains." Raviathan's head snapped forward to stare at the mountain, as if there was some clue he could find by looking closely enough. "If my suspicion is true, tell me what that means."

Nibbling his lip, Raviathan thought. "It could be that the darkspawn are moving west to Orlais. You said Orzammar is the only dwarven city left, and that's at the north pass. So the darkspawn could be travelling underground in the path of least resistance further south. They could be sneaking up on Orlais from that direction, or the darkspawn could be looking for a defensible position in order to build their numbers up, particularly if the war in the south has been successful so far. We would have a much harder time fighting them in the mountains, and they would have the advantage of easy navigation in the tunnels under all the weather and snow we would have to fight through.

"They could also be flanking us to surround the army, though. Or picking off allies rather than face a unified front. Could they be calling more darkspawn to the south? Like the reinforcements we've called from Orlais? How much do darkspawn think? How do they communicate?"

Give the boy half a chance, and Raviathan rose to the challenge. The history lessons were paying off in gold. Though his expression didn't change, Duncan felt a surge of pride in the lad's intelligence. "All good questions, Rav, though some of the answers will have to wait."

The camp was readying to move. Squires and lesser soldiers had the task of packing tents and equipment while more experienced soldiers continued to train.

The messenger was speaking with an older man surrounded by knights and a Chantry mother. Raviathan couldn't tell the older man's age. He had a full grey beard and long grey hair held out of his face with braids, but grey hair could mask a person's true age, making him appear older than was necessarily the case. His armor was plain at first glance, but on closer inspection, Raviathan saw that it was very well crafted from fine materials. That could mean either the human wasn't pretentious, or that he preferred to blend in to be less of a target to a hostile enemy.

"That would be Arl Eamon," Duncan whispered to Raviathan.

"… issues with the recent rain," the messenger stated, his chest puffed out.

"I'll allow for compensation of the east dock homes," Eamon said. "What else?"

"The arlessa is looking for a new tutor for your son."

"New tutor," Eamon said, mystified. "What's wrong with Torrme?"

"She said she caught him drinking excessively during his lecture hours. She fears his influence on the young master. But she says…" The messenger quieted when the arl waved him off.

"Whatever she thinks is best. I have other concerns at the moment." The men around the arl chuckled.

"It's only an Avvar invasion followed by some darkspawn horde, Your Grace. Surely you can personally oversee every staff appointment," one of the knights commented, eliciting more laughter.

Raviathan wasn't sure what to make of the arl. Despite the grey in his beard, he carried himself with the competence of a man used to fighting. A warrior certainly, but he didn't have the arrogance that William or Vaughan displayed so readily. Raviathan nibbled at the inside of his lip. Elves he could read with no problem, but humans remained a mystery. Though he was getting better at intuiting their personalities, he needed to adapt quicker.

"Duncan!" Eamon said with the warmth of an old comrade. "Good you came when you did. We're going to move camp further west in an hour."

"I take it you will not be heading south any time soon then," Duncan said.

"Not necessarily. I've been having some success in negotiations with the Avvar messenger. But come. We'll discuss in more detail." Eamon left to return to his tent, his knights following.

"Stay in the camp while I talk to the arl." Duncan turned back to Raviathan, eyes narrowed in mock irritation. "And no getting in trouble or kidnapped."

"So many shems about. That's going to be a tall order." Raviathan grinned back at Duncan's suspicious look, relieved that his mentor understood him. "Well, with this much fabulousness, I can't blame them for being unable to resist me."

"Yell if one of them throws you over his shoulder."

"Will do."

Raviathan caught the flash of white from Duncan's grin when he turned to follow the rest to the arl's tent. Watching the old warrior's retreating back, Raviathan nibbled his lip. He might be able to ease some of Duncan's old scars and arthritis if he was careful. Stinging nettles and burdock root grew in abundance here, perfect for teas and ointments. Raviathan would have left to go hunting for herbs if Duncan hadn't ordered him to stay. With so many new landscapes, Raviathan was itching to explore. How amazing this world was outside of his alienage. If his people could live free as the Dalish, out in the wonder of this land, their lives would be near perfect.

Since he was left to his own whims, Raviathan wandered about the camp. Everything fascinated him. He watched the squires bundle tents and equipment for a time, studying how they packed with an economy of space. Some of the equipment was ingeniously made, such as the cooking pots that stacked inside one another. Horses and oxen were tied up on one side of camp, which he decided to avoid. Attracted by the sound of sparring, Raviathan decided to head to the training area. He had never had the opportunity to watch men train before.

Rounding a large tent, Raviathan froze. A pack of huge, muscled mabari sat together in an open area of the camp. A pale grey beast lifted her head, her nose scenting the air, then turned to look at him. Raviathan's breath caught. Memories of howls, jaws bared to tear him apart, the smell of burning flesh all snapped into his brain. Within seconds, the entire pack was staring at him.

The kennel master rose up from the middle of the pack, a jar of silvery clay in one hand. He looked at the pack then to where Raviathan stood. "Huh. You'd think they've never seen an elf before."

At least he was called an elf. The kennel master's calm allowed Raviathan to reexamine the pack with new eyes. Despite his fear, the mabari showed no hostility. The dogs were curious above all else.

"You afraid of them, then?"

"A bit."

"So that's what got their attention. Eh, nothing to fear unless you're one of them Avvars. Last I remember, no elves among them." The kennel master bent down to smear more of the clay on the next dog. "If they were regular dogs, you'd be in trouble. Smell of fear would make them aggressive, go after you. These beauties know they can rip off your arms before you could do more than squeak. Isn't that right, me dear," he cooed at the closest.

Humans made no sense. Ignoring the man's odd behavior, Raviathan studied the dogs now that he knew the animals were controlled. They probably weighed more than he did by a few stone. The mabari came in all shades, their short fur showing off powerful muscles.

Most of the war dogs' muscle resided in their shoulders, their forelegs oddly shaped for a dog. Their forelegs reminded Raviathan of children playing at being dogs, the way children had to position their hands and arms to accommodate being on all fours. The comparison helped Raviathan identify how a mabari's shoulders locked much further back. Beneath their intimidating muscle mass, the dogs' wide scapula bone covered the front ribs like a piece of armor. The humerus bone was shorter, thicker, as were their metacarpus bones, setting their forelegs further back than a normal dog. Their over large paws ended in heavy claws, unusual for a dog.

"What's the paint for?" Raviathan asked. The analysis of the dogs' skeletal structure took Raviathan's mind off his fear. The dogs had returned to sniffing the air or the paint, looking about at whatever interested a mabari. Except for the grey female who continued to watch Raviathan, her head cocked in curiosity. The dog actually had quite a sweet face, Raviathan thought. Gentle eyes.

"Mabari identify their pack by smell. They're familiar with the soldiers here, but blood has a strong scent. Can confuse them in the thick of battle, especially when they get excited. The clay reminds them who their friends are."

The grey mabari was still watching him. When her stub of a tail started a tentative wag, Raviathan returned the gesture by wiggling his fingers. A bright pink tongue fell out to lick her muzzle. He grinned, enchanted by the animal's plaintive whine. She twisted in her sitting position to take a step toward him, her neck stretched out.

"Hey! Get out of here!" The kennel master pulled on the grey mabari's collar to get her to turn away. "I don't need her imprinting on some random knife ear."

So they were back to knife ear. Shems were all the same once their surface was scratched. Knife ear. Raviathan had a vivid image of just where he would stick that shem's knife. "What's imprinting?"

"I said go! A mabari with this breeding is meant for a warrior." He pulled at her collar again, eliciting a yelp. Raviathan didn't think she was hurt so much as distressed. She was such a sweet dog, too. Thinking it better not to cause the dog any confusion, he left.

Were shems all the same? Just because Duncan was a good man didn't mean they all were. Shems could be pleasant enough when they wanted something, like getting their lives saved, but should an elf forget his place, humans were quick to pull his ears. Deciding there was no use dwelling on it, Raviathan continued to the practice area.

The clearing was divided into three main areas: archery practice, sword on dummy practice, and a section for sparring with wooden weapons. Of the three, sparring brought back the most memories for Raviathan. His training had always been with his mother, so watching a sparring match from an outside perspective made him review his techniques in a new light.

Most of the combatants were sword and shield fighters, or sword and board as his mother called it. Their style was completely different from Raviathan's own two weapon system, which may have explained the discrepancies he saw, but to Raviathan, the fighters appeared clumsy. Their footwork was shoddy to say the least, heavy and inflexible, more like a lumbering ox trudging through a muddy field than warriors trained to battle. Worse than that, their attacks were slow. Perhaps that was deliberate, but Raviathan couldn't see any benefit. These were warriors going into battle and should already have the necessary muscle memory down. The fighters also left a number of vulnerable areas open if only their opponent was clever enough to exploit them.

Confused by the inadequacy of the warriors, Raviathan turned to study the other knights practicing with dummies. Most were also sword and shield, but he did spy one knight who used a large claymore in a two handed style. Taking the opportunity, Raviathan studied the man's swings and defense. The sword was powerful, no doubt, but it was a slow style of fighting. Raviathan shifted unconsciously as he mentally placed himself in the position of the wooden dummy. He thought of ducking or swaying to avoid the blade, using his movement to take advantage of the knight's many openings.

For the first time, Raviathan wondered why anyone would choose to study a two-handed weapon. The power wasn't worth the excessive slowness or vulnerability the weapon demanded. Raviathan chewed his lip in thought. Armor only protected so much. Why would anyone choose to give up the flexibility and quickness of two weapon fighting? As he watched the soldiers, he mused that humans as a whole lacked the speed and agility of an elf. At least, from this sample they did, and that was also true of the Arl of Denerim's guards. If all they had was strength, best to focus on that.

When Raviathan turned to examine the archers, he realized more than a few of the soldiers were staring at him. This again? As he looked about, though, he realized he hadn't seen a single elf in the camp. Redcliffe had elves, didn't it? These men must have seen an elf before. Then Raviathan was struck with the realization that he had never met an elf from Redcliffe. Marriages were arranged with every alienage and most towns in Ferelden. He had met elves from Lothering, Gwaren, West Hills, all corners of Ferelden, but not one from Redcliffe. A chill went down Raviathan's spine. Why in the Maker's name were there no elves from Redcliffe?

"You there. Those sticks on your back just for show?" The soldier who addressed him had brown hair plastered to his skull from the helmet he had been wearing. Otherwise his features were large in a relatively young face.

The soldier didn't sound unfriendly, but Raviathan's guard was up. He wondered if he should shout for Duncan, though that seemed as silly as much as tactful at this point. The soldiers hadn't done anything but stare and address him, but there were a lot of these men taking an interest.

"I've used them before," Raviathan said.

"He came with that Grey Warden," another soldier said. That statement caused a round of murmurs to rise from the gathering knights.

"Grey Warden, eh?" the flat haired knight said. "You his servant then?"

"His recruit."

"Heh. Haven't heard of elves fighting with the Grey. What say you to a little practice? See what makes a Grey Warden so special?"

"With you?"

"Yeah," the flat haired knight responded.

Raviathan wasn't sure he was reading the humans correctly. There was a touch of hostility to their gazes, but that could just be men issuing a challenge, the typical competitiveness that most men had. Some of the men glared while others looked on with curiosity. The squire Gage had said wearing his weapons openly could make him a target for men who would want to take an elf down a peg. Was that the reason for the challenge? Or was it his status as a Grey Warden recruit that intimidated them into proving themselves?

Whatever their motivation, Raviathan had seen these men spar. One on one, he was sure he could beat them. "Alright. A friendly match then?"

"What else?" the knight returned with a lopsided grin. Raviathan studied him, not sure if there was genuine friendliness in the smile or a hard challenge. Humans were still hard to read most of the time, but considering what he knew of shems, Raviathan was certain the knights would try a trick or two before he left the camp.

Of the wooden weapons, there were no small practice blades to simulate Raviathan's dagger. Instead, Raviathan took the shortest 'sword' out of the rack. He tested his two choices with a few swings. Like his own practice weapons from when his mother trained him, the wooden swords were heavier than regular steel in order to build up strength. Lead or iron in the hollow of the weapon gave it weight but also changed the balance of the sword. The short sword would already be awkward while the poorly integrated metal further reduced the weapon's effectiveness. This would be more of a challenge than Raviathan anticipated.

The rest of the soldiers gathered in a loose circle. Their scrutiny bothered Raviathan more than the awkward sword weight. Not only was he still getting used to being the only elf in a land overrun with humans, now he was the exclusive focus of their attention. Neither fact boded well. "May I have your name?" Raviathan asked the knight whose helmet was back to flattening his hair.

"Call me Arrol, if you will. And you, ser?"

"Rav."

Arrol was a sword and shield man, already prepared to spar. Raviathan rotated his neck to loosen it and did his best to ignore the calls of the watching soldiers. He faced his opponent with a sideways stance, his weapons raised in the ready. The stance was defensive, inviting the enemy's first strike. Raviathan remembered that the shield was as much a weapon as the sword, having been bashed by one during the attack on the Arl of Denerim's estate. Best to stay away from the man''s shield, but he would likely be expecting that.

Did darkspawn use shields? Duncan had said they didn't think, at least, not as conscious creatures. They communicated. That required thought, or did they communicate the way bees did? Would learning to fight against an enemy who used a sword and shield be useful against the darkspawn?

"What are you waiting for, Warden?" The use of the title was taunt rather than respect.

"I fight darkspawn, not soldiers. Darkspawn don't wait because they do not know fear."

A rise of calls echoed from the soldiers at the jibe. Raviathan could see Arrol's grin through the slit of his helmet. The longer he was away from the alienage, the more Raviathan wished he could read shems better. Was this Arrol a good sport about the tease or…

The soldier rushed forward, his sword raised to slam into Raviathan's side. Raviathan jumped to the side to avoid the sword, his off-hand weapon striking the wooden blade, sending it high. Quickly, he stepped back in with a blow to the rear of the soldier's helmet, pivoting to keep his focus on his enemy. Raviathan hadn't struck hard, not for lack of ability but to minimize any damage he would do. Head wounds were serious, and this was only a practice after all. The soldier would have real enemies soon enough and would need a functioning brain. Well, assuming these soldiers had functioning brains.

More hoots arose from the gathering crowd. Instead of a loose circle of men, they now stood shoulder to shoulder. Raviathan worried about the crowd. Not only was he a stranger, he now realized he could be insulting this Arrol in front of his compatriots. Should he let the knight win then? Try and make him look good? No, Raviathan dismissed the idea. Arrol had asked for the fight. If he lost, that was his problem.

Arrol swung around, his sword held away in a wide angle. Raviathan's mother would have had him do sit ups until he couldn't feel his torso for being so careless. Arrol charged again in the exact same manner. Raviathan had only a split second to decide if the trap was a fake to get him to try the same maneuver and be taken or if the soldier was hoping Raviathan would recognize the trap and try a different tactic.

Raviathan put a leg back as if to side step again. Arrol's rush wasn't out of control as it had been the first time, but he didn't seem to recognize Raviathan wasn't moving in the exact same way as the first attack either. When the soldier closed in, Raviathan sprang forward and pivoted to the soldier's shield side, then rammed his shoulder into the shield. If it could bash one way, why not the other? The soldier's feet tangled in his sudden change of direction, his momentum turning into a sliding fall along the mud and stone earth.

Was this some trick that he couldn't figure out? Surely the Redcliffe soldiers were not this incompetent. Maybe this was a squire after all. If so, Raviathan felt like an ass for trouncing the boy instead of helping him develop.

"Here. How about me, Warden?"

Raviathan turned to see the two-handed swordsman he had been studying before. This soldier had broad muscles, a bigger target who had a lot more force. Hard eyes glared from a wide, deeply lined face darkened with thick stubble. This whole situation was going pear-shaped. "I understand you are off to march soon. Perhaps another time."

Boos sounded all around him in the gathered circle. He had a wall of shems around him, all roused and ready. Bloody Maker's ass. He should have bowed out from the first match. Now he would look a coward and fool if he called for Duncan. That is, if Duncan could hear him over the rabble.

"Come on, knife ear. Promise I won't damage that pretty face of yours."

Heat rose in Raviathan's cheeks. As if 'knife ear' wasn't bad enough, why did every damn shem have some 'pretty' comment ready? In response, Raviathan stretched out his arms, swords low, and gave the soldier a short bow. The soldier grinned, stalking around the living circle with a wooden sword ready. Raviathan took his side facing position, pivoting to track the soldier's movement.

As before, when the attack came, it was a sudden fury of movement. The sword sailed overhead, straight for Raviathan's shoulder at the base of his neck. He reversed his stance to be on the other side of the sword's arc, narrowly escaping the sword's path as the wood swooshed inches from his face. Taking advantage of the soldier's opening, Raviathan stepped in to jab the soldier's side. The man's elbow shot out. Surprised, Raviathan barely had time to recognize the maneuver. The elbow caught him, a graze, but enough to tell him this man wasn't pulling his attacks.

Laughter erupted from the circle of onlookers. Whether from the silly back arching dodge Raviathan was forced to do to escape the elbow, or from his surprise at the attack, Raviathan couldn't tell.

Interesting tactic though. Taking a different view, Raviathan realized the two-handed sword gave the man greater reach while improvised hand attacks kept him competitive at close range. Excited, Raviathan returned to his standard position. At least he was learning in this fight.

The soldier readied his next attack, a wide horizontal arc aimed for Raviathan's side. Raviathan crouched with his main sword sliding the blade high, using the soldier's momentum to again expose an opening. To his shock, the soldier pivoted quickly, increasing the heavy momentum of the sword. Raviathan sprang from his crouch away from the blade. Not fast enough. The soldier had been aiming for him in the low position. He couldn't adapt quickly enough to follow Raviathan, but he did manage a sound crack against Raviathan's calf.

For a second, Raviathan thought his leg might be broken. Raucous cheers erupted, but they sounded distant compared to the pain that simultaneously numbed his leg and burned. The warrior hadn't paused to let him recover though. Raviathan's attention snapped to the soldier, the great sword already coming for him. Raviathan back peddled as he parried. The soldier pressed him, nearly at a charge.

Speed. Control the battle. Raviathan was letting this man use his muscle to his advantage and taking away his own agility. Since his leg was clearly not broken, Raviathan twisted to the side. The soldier followed, but Raviathan kept dancing out of the way. This soldier was tricky, but he lacked flexibility. Raviathan kept the man twisting around, placing himself where the soldier couldn't attack. This time, when Raviathan closed for an attack, he was prepared for the elbow that struck out. Raviathan bent back with the elbow, taking the hit, but slamming his sword against the back of the soldier's knee. The soldier fell with a thud, his eyes wide when the tip of Raviathan's short sword pressed against the underside of his jaw.

"Yield?"

"Aye," the man huffed.

Raviathan kept the sword against the soldier's jaw. He pressed a little harder. "Don't call me knife ears."

"Aye, Warden," he rasped.

Raviathan nodded then stepped away. To his surprise, the wall of soldiers cheered him. He expected boos or resentment, but no, they actually cheered for him. He wasn't quite sure what to do. Of the various faces, Arrol's caught his eye. The man was young, and in review, was likely a squire. More than that, he wouldn't meet Raviathan's eyes, and Raviathan felt an unexpected pang of shame war with a flash of anger.

However distracting the cheering and Arrol were, Raviathan was on the ready. That soldier has shown a level of cunning that kept a man alive through year after year of battle. When the downed soldier lunged for him, Raviathan leapt up out of his grasp, his sword swinging to club the man's forearm. To his credit, the soldier made no noise even though he must have been in pain. Exasperated, Raviathan thumped the soldier's helmet. "You idiot. You've got a battle coming up. I was trying not to hurt you."

Duncan's laugh rang through the crowd. "And that's why I chose him, Eamon."

Raviathan went to his mentor, warmed and slightly abashed at the praise. "Um, we should get going, shouldn't we, Duncan? Long miles ahead and all?"

"How's your leg? Do you need to rest it?"

"It's fine. We should go."

Duncan squinted at his odd behavior but let it go. He and Eamon shook hands, Eamon giving Raviathan a respectful nod that completely caught him off guard.

Once they started leaving, Raviathan took Duncan's elbow to rush him out of the camp. "Rav. What in the Maker's name has gotten into you?"

Raviathan cast a glance back over his shoulder then started jogging, forcing Duncan along with him. A holler of panic rose from camp. Shouts and laughter followed.

"What?"

"Would you hurry?"

"Rav, you tell me what's going on right now."

Raviathan pressed his lips together, sent another glance at the camp, but did not slow. "That soldier. The two-hander. I, ah, knocked him down."

"I saw."

"Into a pile of red ants."

"On purpose?"

"He called me knife ears. And he was mean."

Duncan sighed, caught between wanting to laugh and worry that his newest recruit was going to be a source of endless difficulties for the Wardens. He was brought out of his thoughts by Raviathan's question. "Duncan, why are there no elves in Redcliffe?"

"How do you know that?"

"I didn't see any in the camp, not even servants to tend animals or pack. And there's never been an elf from Redcliffe in the alienage."

Duncan murmured deep in his throat. "The arlessa keeps a few as personal servants in the castle, elves she brought with her from Orlais. I believe that most of the elves, if not all, were taken by the Orlesians as slaves during the occupation or fled to the Dalish. You'll note that all of the soldiers were male. Orlesians disapprove of women in combat, an attitude that marks Redcliffe's values from the rest of the nation to this day. Come. I know a path south of the Imperial Highway that will save us a number of miles. And perhaps keep any revenge minded soldiers away," Duncan said with a shake of his head. "We'll be at Ostagar soon."